Qhuinn's Shopping List
by LolaWhite
Summary: Qhuinn's shopping list turns into an internal dialogue about the way he feels about Blay. Angst. Language. *before Lover Bound* Oneshot.


Disclaimer - I don't own the characters, they belong to JR Ward.

* * *

**A.N.** - Hey guys, so my very wonderful reader Karyssa requested this fic and I liked the idea a lot. If Blay gets to have a letter to spill his heart out, why not extend the same courtesy to Qhuinn? This one starts out as his damn Christmas shopping list of all things. The man couldn't write a love letter if his life depended on it, it's just not his style, so I had to get a little creative and trick him into it in order to steal this little sneak-peak into his thoughts. And it's not like it's long either. God forbid. *eye-roll* Or particularly pleasant. *wince* But oh, well.

Anyway. So this one and _"Too much and not enough"_ go hand in hand, so to speak.

Inspired by the song - "Who will love me now" - PJ Harvey (devastating little piece of music. Listen to it. It'll make your day. Honest.)

Dedicated to Karyssa / kgantz.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Please excuse any language inadequacies, it was all very tempesty, I didn't have a chance to groom it into submission.

* * *

Christmas shopping list

John – tickets to boxing game (have to look into what I can find this late)

Butch – a watch? Dude has e lot of watches... maybe some nice cufflinks? Too personal? To think about it.

Rhage – pink muscle shirt. Hot pink. He'll fucking kill me, but that one second while he opens the wrapping... priceless.

Vishous - pair of felt dice for the Escalade. Also gonna kill me.

Xhex – fuck if I know. Bag of coals? How many times can I die in one evening?

Blay

Shit.

And Saxton. Goddamit. Maybe if I say it enough it gets easier. If I write it enough it gets better. Shit. Blay and... And Saxton. Blay and Saxton. There.

Saxton. And Blay. Blay&Saxton. Saxton + Blay. Together. A couple. Should I get them one present or two? Should I get any of them anything? Saxton + Blay = Lovers.

Fuck.

Does napalm count as a Christmas present if I wrap the flamethrower with a nice red bow before shoving it up Saxton's ass? Maybe that's a bit much. If I shove it down his throat? Yeah. Better. If it doesn't count I'm writing a complaint to Santa. Shit.

Blay and Saxton, sitting in a Christmas tree. God, I fucking hate trees. And Christmas. And Saxton.

This shit isn't helping. Sorry fucking excuse for a shopping list this is turning out to be, why the fuck can't I do one single fucking thing right? How many times have I written this fucking thing now? Four times? Five? I give up. I fucking give up. SHIT!

*other side of the page*

Blay – jazz vinyl collection? He already has enough and I don't know shit about jazz. Maybe a nice engraved Glock silencer. With the engraving "So you can better shoot Qhuinn with". He might not appreciate the humor. A sweater? V-neck, tan. Cashmere. Soft, but not as soft as his hair. It would bring out his eyes. Or I think it would bring out his eyes. For other people. For me they're just another shade of gray. I heard chinese weavers can distinguish up to 60 different shades of gray and have a name for each and every one of them. I can distinguish many more than that. The particular one for Blay's eyes should be called...

God, why am I doing this to myself? The ship has sailed, the train has left the station, the rocket has fucking launched. It's too fucking late and even if it weren't, which it is, you've had your chance and fucking blew it. Remember? Remember that, fucker? How does that feel? You wanna keep this up? I can do it all fucking night long. Remember that time in the mall when he was smiling at you with that warmth he sometimes gets in his eyes and told you the dark gray shirt looks better on you than the black one and you snapped his head off just to see that look in his eyes disappear cause you couldn't handle it? Told him you weren't buying the fucking shirt to please him. "If I wanted your opinion I'd have asked." You said. Remember that? Remember him apologizing and how embarrassed he looked? Chance – blown.

Or another Kodak moment in the mall. When you were banging the cashier in the changing room with him and John in the store. Chance – blown. And every time you screwed up you could see a little piece of the light in his eyes die away and a little of the one in your heart died right along with it, but you kept going, didn't you? That hollow, lost look he gets more and more often now, you did that all by yourself. Yeah, you're a real winner. Sleep well at night?

How about all the other freaking times he had to watch you fuck some nameless nobody, or even better, fucked them with you? Just so he could be near you. Just so he could have those few minutes with you, warped and dirty as they were? You knew why he was doing it. Knew and asked him anyway. Again. And again. And again. Chances – BLOWN.

Yeah, some fucking catch you'd be! Oh, man! If only he'd give you one more chance. If only he'd see how much you love him. Why the fuck should he? Wake up and smell eternity alone, asshole. It's not his fucking responsibility to mend your poor, sorry ass broken soul, is it? Why the hell should he want to be the fucking glue holding your pieces together? Because you're such a stand-up guy? Such an honorable male? Because you love him? God, you disgust me. Blay deserves better than this. Hell, a dog deserves better than this! So yeah. Blay and Saxton = HAPPY. And you? You can take you loneliness and your guilt and your fucking broken heart and go die alone in ditch any night or your choosing and spare the rest of the world the trouble.


End file.
